


Phalanges

by pumpkinscript



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood Kink, Cannibalism, Dinner, F/M, Gun Kink, Hannibal - Freeform, Hannibal Lecter - Freeform, Hannibal the Cannibal, Insane Reader, Kissing, Psychopath, There’s some weird psychopath stuff going on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 15:17:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20084362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinscript/pseuds/pumpkinscript
Summary: "I see you found my pantry.""Yes, I did.""Find anything interesting?" The gun pressed a bit harder onto her head.





	Phalanges

"This steak is delicious," (y/n) said. "Though I would be inclined to say that I've never had a meal this delicious before, it tastes somewhat familiar."

"I'm glad to know you like it," Hannibal said in his thick Danish accent. "You must be so kind as to excuse me for a moment." He rose from the table and exited the room, leaving (y/n) alone. 

Her acute sense of hearing was finely tuned; she heard Hannibal climb the stairs in the house and walk right over her head. She had always seemed to be the nosy type, and she wanted badly to snoop around his elaborate kitchen. She didn't want to be rude, so, for a moment, she stayed in her seat. The pull of curiosity, was, however, much stronger. She, too, rose from the table and stepped into the kitchenspace. Large granite countertops and polished floors held the most expensive of utensils and machinery; a Blendtec Stealth Blender, Sub-Zero Wolf Freezer Drawers, a Hammacher Juicer, a Meneghini Arredamenti Refrigerator were a few expensive items among others. As she looked through the kitchen, the pantry caught her eye. She could tell it was refrigerated from the tiny wisps of frosted air escaping through the cracks of the door. She tiptoed over to the pantry and silently opened it. What it contained truly stole her breath and her clarity of mind. 

Large slabs of meat hung from ropes tied to hooks on the high ceiling. Humidity-controlled bins of different cuts lined the walls. One bin caught her eye, however. The label had caught her off-guard. She had to look twice at the label to make sure her mind wasn't playing tricks on her: Phalanges. 

There were human fingers in the bin. She took a deep breath in, and started to back out of the pantry slowly. Then, she bumped into something, or rather, someone. Her back hit the chest of the man with whom she had been dining with just ten minutes before, and suddenly, a gun was pressed against her temple. 

"I see you found my pantry."

"Yes, I did."

"Find anything interesting?" The gun pressed a bit harder onto her head. 

"I did," she said. She wasn't scared of him or the gun. She was never scared of anything. 

"And what did you find?"

"Phalanges, the label said," she said. "Human fingers... am I correct?"

"Quite, miss (y/l/n)"

"Hmm. I take it you have to kill me now?"

"Most definitely. I couldn't risk my secret getting out, I do hope you understand."

"Of course, of course," she said. "But, I would like to let you know; I wouldn't be inclined to tell anyone."

"Really?" he asked sarcastically. "And why would that be?"

"Because I'm like you."

"What?" The gun's pressure on her temple lessened, and she smirked. "What do you mean?" 

"I mean," she started, "that you're not the only one who kills and prepares the exquisite meat of the human body for sheer enjoyment." 

She reached up and the back of her hand touched his cheek. His other hand took her own and she felt his lips softly brush up against it. Slowly, she turned around; the gun still at her head. She looked at him with a powerful glint in her eyes and a hungry one in his. She easily led the gun in his hand towards her mouth and she kissed the barrel. She could feel him shudder as vibrations hit the air. Then, she stuck out her tongue and circled the muzzle, pointing the gun up, sticking it on the underside of her tongue. 

In the blink of an eye, a shot rang out and a gaping hole was formed through (y/n)'s tongue. Hannibal jumped back in surprise as he eyed the girl who had just shot a bullet through her own tongue. Blood dripped onto the floor of the pantry. It was not gushing; she had avoided hitting any major veins, the the bullet had been quite small. 

Hannibal eyed the rivers of red rubbing down her white dress shirt and his eyes flashed. Suddenly, he reached forward, and, dropping the gun to the floor, took (y/n)'s face in his hand and kissed her. His kiss was soft and sophisticated, yet passionate and lustful. The wound in her mouth stung as Hannibal sucked the blood out of her mouth and into his. 

She had won him over — the heartless killer. He backed her onto the wall, biting her neck softly. Ruthless as he, she pushed him off and threw herself up against him. His hands were fixed, holding her waist against him, but hers were freer. They roamed his black and maroon suit swiftly; elegantly. 

His kiss tasted of red wine and blood. Hers tasted of passion and insanity. 

Who knew kissing a psychopath would taste so good?

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find my works on my Wattpad page @pumpkinscript


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